


everything i do is bittersweet

by jywait



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Love Confessions, M/M, Pining, rusame is so cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 12:15:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15509664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jywait/pseuds/jywait
Summary: Russia finds a piece of paper that America has dropped behind, and is lost upon opening it.~“Just. Fuck, you drive me wild. I like you, a lot, and fucking hell, I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you,” the letter read, and vaguely, Russia wondered if he had taken a little too many shots of vodka.





	everything i do is bittersweet

**Author's Note:**

> heyo! just got into hetalia, like...10 years late but nvm  
> hmu on jywait on tumblr! id love to hear what you think!

According to Japan, who had arranged the seats for the world conference which was hosted in his country, putting Russia beside America was a good idea, much to literally everyone’s disbelief.

“America-san, Russia-san, I hope you two will get along,” Japan had said politely, bowing to the two of them while America, Russia noted, paled and dragged Japan away to discuss something. His expression was distressed, yet Japan’s neutral, smiling gently even when Russia could tell America was speaking harshly. He kept shooting looks at him which Russia pretended not to notice, flushing the once Russia had directed his gaze at the other.

Russia took his seat beside America, keeping his usual smile on his face and ignoring the fact South Italy was edging away from him.

America came a bit later, dropping himself into the seat as it squeaked in protest. His left hand held a bag of burgers which Russia could smell from here, and his right held a stack of paper. Russia returned to staring straight ahead, musing on what he ought to do after this. Perhaps the Baltic’s would like to join him for lunch?

He felt America’s gaze land on him once, but ignored it. America drummed his fingers on the table incessantly, and Russia resisted the urge to snap those fingers clean off. That wouldn’t do. Without realizing, his fingers went to his scarf, stroking it gently.

“Can’t believe I have to sit here with you,” America’s voice came from beside him, grumbling. Russia’s smile widened.

“Why, America, surely we put everything behind us?” He said. America jumped a little, but relaxed and rolled his eyes at the other. Russia couldn’t quite keep the smile off his face. Only America could defy him like that, how he wanted to see more...

“Whatever, man,” America said dismissively, and Russia furrowed his brow. Usually, America would continue yelling, calling him ‘commie bastard’ and the like despite the fact he wasn’t even communist anymore, but somehow today he seemed unusually quiet.

Russia almost wanted to ask what’s wrong, but pushed down the unnatural urge and turned to the meeting which just began instead.

America continued being quiet the entire meeting, and even England was sending him worried looks, before being distracted by France’s relentless teasing. He barely seemed focused, from what Russia could tell, rather he was drifting off to the distance, only to jerk back to reality when Japan asked him a question.

Russia was almost worried.

~

The meeting broke for a lunch break, countries milling out of the room and leaving Russia alone. America didn’t bother sticking around, immediately rising out of his seat and leaving without sparing anyone a glance. No one else seemed to have noticed, save for Russia, and his smile dropped in the emptiness of his room. What on earth was going on with America? His usual, loud self was replaced a oddly silent and contemplative America.

As Russia gathered his things, he noticed a slip of paper on the floor where America once was. Curious, Russia bent over to pick up the piece of paper, barely the size of his palm. It was folded, with creases that showed how much the owner had used it, probably writing and rewriting their words.

Russia opened the slip, eyes widening at what he saw in America’s distinct handwriting.

“ _ ~~I like~~_  
_~~I’m in l~~_  
_~~I love you~~_

_Ah hell this is fucking hard, and it’s not like you’re gonna read it anyways even though I want you to...badly..._

_Just. Fuck, you drive me wild. I like you, a lot, and fucking hell, I’m pretty sure ~~I’m in love with you~~_ ,” the letter read, and vaguely, Russia wondered if he had taken a little too many shots of vodka.

From there, the words were so crushed up they could barely be read, and had little tears from, what Russia could guess, America writing a little too hard.

Despite this though, Russia felt a pain in his chest, and not for the first time, his heart threatened to literally fall out of his chest. America was in love with someone? Who? How could Russia not have known? Granted, they don’t speak much except for trading insults, but Russia would’ve thought America wouldn’t be subtle about it.

Russia looked at the paper in his slightly trembling hands, feeling an overwhelming urge to both tear the thing apart and keep it so that he could pretend, pretend that maybe America-

The door to the conference room slammed opened, America charging in like a bull, a panicked, flushed bull. Russia felt guilt rise up in him, though the pain he had did too.

“Russia?” America asked, the tips of his ears red.

“America,” Russia said, belatedly, watching in bemusement as America headed towards him, but not looking him in the eyes.

No one else was in the room except for the two of them, and nervous, Russia fidgeted with his scarf, watching as America continued to avoid eye contact with him. America went to his seat and kneeled onto the floor, seeming as if he was looking for something. His hair seemed a little messy, wavy lines formed as if he had ran his fingers through his hair repeatedly.

Russia continued watching quietly, the paper in his hands seeming as if it weighed more with each second. Was America looking for this paper? Russia debated on whether he ought to speak up and let America realise, or remain silent and hide the piece of paper, but America put all thoughts of his plans to a halt.

“Is that mine?” America said, eyes wide as he stared directly into Russia’s hands.

Silently, Russia held it out, observing the shaky breath America seemed to take before snatching it away from him, eyes scanning his own words in panic. America ran a hand through his hair.

“Russia,” America spoke up, and was it just him or was the room warmer than before? Russia seemed to think so, anyways. “Did you read this?” He asked, and the bob of his Adam’s apple gave the tale of his nervousness away.

Russia nodded, and America seemed to tense even more than he had before, pulling at the collar of his suit with his index finger and looking down at the ground.

Russia felt it was probably time to say something, something to quell the awkwardness that was going to consume him.

“America,” he started, unsure of what he even wanted to say. Should he apologise? Maybe he should wish America good luck with his love? God, Russia thought, rubbing his chest in slight hurt, this was a lot more painful than he imagined.

“Russia!” America interrupted, his face a steady red now. “I-It’s not what you think! I don’t- That is, I- Well,” America stuttered, speaking in harsh breaths and chest heaving rapidly.

Russia kept silent, watching America clutch at his nicely tailored shirt, crinkling it. “I- Um. Uh. Well-“ America continued, starting to breathe even heavier now. Russia mused on whether he should intervene and put a stop this before America faints from the sheer amount of blood in his face. Russia almost wanted to remain silent, just to see America’s cute little mortified face. Such a shame he had to put a stop to it, or his heart might actually fall out. It hurts, knowing America loved another so much to be so adorably flustered, yet Russia could at least appreciate the pure anxiety on his face.

“America,” he interrupted, and the other fell silent, watching him nervously. “I don’t care about that,” he said, as a way of comfort.

Instead, America’s eyes widened, then looked to the floor. “Oh,” he said, quietly. His eyes dulled.

Russia felt a pang in his heart from the raw hurt on America’s face. “It’s...” he said, pausing as he tried to think of words that was consoling, and would not reveal the depths of his own feelings. “I won’t tell anyone that you like someone, if that’s what you’re worried about, America,” he said, ignoring the sting he felt from mentioning America’s love.

America straightened suddenly, eyes going wide behind his glasses. “Someone...else?”

Russia blinked in surprise. “Da. Is that not what I said?”

America then gave out a laugh, one slightly pained and raw and completely uncharacteristic of the situation. “Y-you, really?” America laughed, and Russia huffed, miffed and a little lost.

Russia tapped his foot impatiently, waiting for America to stifle his sudden good humour, and explain what the hell was going on. America gave out a soft chuckle, then quietened down, the red of his cheeks remaining.

“Russia. You idiot,” America said, giving a small smile even as Russia frowned at his words.

America stepped forward, a step closer to Russia.

“I like you,” he said simply, though immediately after he ducked his head, and brought both his hands up to fiddle with them. Russia felt the warmth in his heart start to spread throughout his body, and his cheeks warmed.

“I-Um. Love you. Actually. I think. And well, I don’t expect ya to return my feelings or anything, I just wanted to. Um.” America trailed off after babbling, breath hitching as Russia closed the gap between them with his lips.

The kiss was about as soft as sandpaper. Russia pulled away after a second.

“You need chapstick,” he said, and America, face a pretty pink, froze for a few seconds before snapping back into existence and giving him a light, playful shove. “Shut it, commie bastard,” America growled, but Russia could tell by the crinkle in his eye that he was holding back, and was in fact delighted. Russia couldn’t say he did not feel the same, his hand raising up to feel his lips again, to remember the warmth that was there just a bit ago. America sighed softly, giving him a fond look that make his heart skip several beats.

“I love you too,” Russia said, as an afterthought. “Gee,” America replied, rolling his eyes, “I figured.” His smile lingered on his lips.

The countries then came back, as it was the end of the lunch break, and everyone returned to their seats. Russia did the same, as did America, and both barely managed to smooth their expression into something neutral.

And hey, if anyone realised and pointed out the fact that America was holding his hand underneath the table, Russia would just smile his usual smile, promising something later.

 

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to leave a comment telling me what you think if youd like! russia is...difficult


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